The Distant Wound
The heavy iron gauntlet on Silas Vane’s left hand clattered against the crystal goblet as he raised it to his lips, the sound sharp and wet in the hushed air of the Ministry hall. He swallowed the wine, tasting copper and old dust, while the crowd of forty warden’s and officers raised their glasses in a synchronized arc, their faces illuminated by the cold, sterile light of the high ceiling....
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